


Say It With Chocolates

by Marbled Wings (LynxRyder)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Chocolates are meaningful, Inspired by the opening of the bookshop cut scene, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post canon, Soft and happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22668367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynxRyder/pseuds/Marbled%20Wings
Summary: It's been over two hundred years since Crowley last attempted to tell Aziraphale he loved him with a box of chocolates and very low expectations. They've saved the world and created their own since then, and Crowley might just be brave enough to try again.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 210





	Say It With Chocolates

**Author's Note:**

> Assumes a knowledge of the opening of the bookshop scene that's in the script book. Pure romance interrupted.

It was three o’clock on a perfectly ordinary Thursday afternoon. High Street Kensington was bustling with shoppers and tourists, some in a hurry, others content to be the reason for raising the blood pressure of commuters as they walked three abreast, arms linked, getting in everyone’s way. The point was everyone was moving, everyone but Crowley.

He had been standing in front of the same shop for the last hour and a half, staring at the window display which, though impressive, hardly merited such extended contemplation. If anyone had noticed him, and Crowley was making damn sure no one did, they might have wondered why he wore such a serious expression. After all, chocolatiers were not renowned for causing prospective customers to frown quite so fiercely and though plenty struggled to decide which treats to select, very few went so far as to be paralysed with indecision for hours at a time.

In truth, it was not the decision of which chocolates to buy that was causing Crowley such trouble - he knew precisely which ones he would get if he ever did make it over the threshold and into the shop itself – it was a much bigger, riskier, far more terrifying decision that needed to be made. 

On the one hand, things were going so well. Armagedon’t was but a memory, Heaven and Hell were leaving them be, and Aziraphale had given absolutely no indication that he was tiring of Crowley’s near constant company. Considering all this, and Crowley was considering it very, very carefully, it made very little sense to want to do anything that might upset the balance of things.

On the other, though Crowley was by all reasonable measures happier than he had ever been, and certainly far happier than he believed any demon had a right to be, he was also finding it increasingly difficult to reconcile this happiness with the twisting, miserable, desperate feeling that was growing stronger inside him day by day.

Because Crowley did not lie to Aziraphale. It was a rule, an unspoken but unbreakable tenant of their friendship that stretched back as far as Eden. He might have stretched the truth on occasion, or omitted certain details, or even avoided Aziraphale’s company for great stretches of time in order to ensure both of their safety, but he had tried very hard for a very long time not to lie. And while it was far from likely that Aziraphale would ever do anything so direct as to look up from his plate of scones and ask, ‘How exactly do you feel about me, Crowley? And what should we do about it?’, it did seem as if they were edging towards the moment when Crowley would be forced to choose between admitting how he felt (at long, long last) or breaking the promise to Aziraphale he had never made out loud. He couldn’t lie, he wouldn’t. And yet the truth might break them both.

The minutes ticked by, the shop’s closing time rapidly approaching and still Crowley was standing on the pavement. Immobile, undecided and madly, inescapably in love.

Aziraphale had been squinting down at his book for some time before he realised quite how much the light had faded. Five o’clock already! Marking his place and closing the book carefully, Aziraphale removed his reading glasses and placed them very carefully in their case. Crowley would be arriving soon, they’d made plans for dinner.

Aziraphale was standing, smoothing down his waistcoat with one hand, when it occurred to him that no, he hadn’t got it quite right. They hadn’t made plans, not exactly. Crowley had been at the bookshop the previous day, they’d been drinking and talking and not doing much of anything else, and then Crowley had left somewhere around eleven with the words, ‘Dinner tomorrow?’ And that was that.

They’d been seeing each other tomorrow for the best part of six months and at some point Aziraphale had stopped being amazed and simply started trusting that he would see Crowley the next day, and the next, and the next.

The wonder of it all now overwhelmed him at other times, like the week before when Crowley had brought him a huge bouquet of irises which he had promptly found a place for right in the middle of the bookshop where anyone could see. They were still there, filling the early evening air with their soft scent. Aziraphale walked over to them now, rubbed a soft petal between his fingers.

Crowley had passed him a wildflower once, around four hundred years ago. They had been walking along a country lane in what would now be just another sprawling suburb of London, when Crowley had reached down, picked the flower and handed it over. Just like that. Like it was nothing at all. Aziraphale still remembered how furiously he had blushed, how he’d started talking about pestilence and the ineffective cures being sold to villagers. Crowley had said nothing and when he wasn’t looking, Aziraphale had slipped the flower into his pocket. He’d kept it for a few decades, pressed between the pages of one of his most treasured books but it had got lost at some point during one move or another. Aziraphale had mourned its loss while never directly acknowledging that’s what he was doing, never dreaming that he would be gifted an entire bouquet of flowers much less that he would have no reason to hide them.

Aziraphale was about to move away from the flowers and make himself a cup of tea when he happened to glance up. Through the window he caught sight of the Bentley pulling up outside the shop into a space Aziraphale was sure had not existed a moment ago. Smiling, Aziraphale was walking towards the door before Crowley had even appeared. As Crowley turned towards the shop Aziraphale saw that he was holding something. He registered it as another gift before he’d even taken in the shape of the box, the colour, the ribbon. Crowley noticed him then, lifting his free hand in a wave. He did not point at the box he was carrying nor did he mouth the word ‘chocolates’ but Aziraphale saw these things in his mind as clearly as if he had. The smile slipped from his face as his whole body was swept through with a cold, intense dread he had very much hoped never to feel again.

The door opened before Aziraphale could even think of reaching for it and suddenly Crowley was there in front of him, Aziraphale still stuck in a time long past. Another almost-end, one of the nearest misses they’d ever had.

Crowley’s own smile was fading, his confidence faltering in the wake of this unexpectedly chilly reception.

‘Everything okay? We did say dinner, didn’t we? Thought I was early.’

Aziraphale tried to nod but his attention was caught by the box Crowley was carrying. It looked so familiar, it could be the very same one he had been holding two hundred years ago.

‘Are those…?’

Crowley looked down, brightening when he remembered he had something to give.

‘For you.’

‘Ah,’ was the only thing Aziraphale managed to say, taking the offered box and wondering how if he could get away with miracling it somewhere out of sight.

‘Angel, are you…?’

‘Fine,’ said Aziraphale, ‘I’m fine. Let’s…tea, would you like some?’

Aziraphale was already turning away before Crowley could answer, desperate for a moment to gather his thoughts. Casting the chocolate box aside the moment he could, Aziraphale took as long as he could over the tea, arranging the cups on a tray and deliberating over the choice of biscuits before finally carrying the whole lot over to where Crowley sat, his back unusually straight, his watchful, wary gaze shielded by the glasses he had normally removed by now.

‘Tea,’ Aziraphale announced, entirely unnecessarily.

Crowley made no comment. Aziraphale took the seat opposite him at the small table and was reaching for a biscuit before he realised.

‘Oh,’ he said, trying to sound enthusiastic, ‘The chocolates! Let me just…’

He was half rising from his chair when Crowley said, very quiet, very flat, ‘Forget it.’ 

Aziraphale sank back into his seat and took a sip of far too hot tea. He was almost glad of the scalding flash of pain helping to shift the chilly linger of his memories. He considered explaining himself but it was all so foolish. Crowley couldn’t have known that the sight of such a familiar box in his arms would have triggered such a cascade of memories. He almost certainly viewed the whole affair in quite different terms in any case. They’d never actually discussed the events of that day in any great detail. Aziraphale had only discovered Crowley’s part in ensuring he remained on Earth much later, and questioning his motives had seemed too much like entering the territory they both tried very hard to avoid.

Still, Aziraphale thought, as a glacial silence stretched on between them, perhaps the time had come for a little question or two. He cleared his throat.

‘What’s the occasion?’

He might have been imagining it but Crowley seemed to grow a shade paler before he said, ‘What?’

‘The occasion,’ Aziraphale asked, ‘I wondered if there was a reason you brought me a gift.’

‘No,’ said Crowley then winced minutely, ‘No occasion. Just…saw them and thought of you.’

‘That’s very kind, thank you,’ said Aziraphale, wanting to add _you’re kind_ but thinking better of it, ‘You caught me off guard, I suppose.’ 

‘So I gathered,’ said Crowley looking away.

Aziraphale dropped his gaze to his cup of tea. He had not realised quite how fragile this new thing between them was, a happiness comprised of spun glass. Across the table from him, Crowley’s perfectly still form emanated a kind of low grade misery. Aziraphale knew he could finish his tea, ask where they were going for dinner and Crowley would snap out of it, bury his own feelings the way he always had, putting Aziraphale first in that seemingly effortless way that must cost him in a thousand different ways.

It would have been so easy to fall back into their comfortable, well-established pattern and Aziraphale was tempted, so very tempted. He wanted to move past this discomfort as quickly as possible and pretend it had never happened. He wanted to tell Crowley about the book he had been reading while they walked to one of their favourite restaurants. He wanted good food and the warmth of knowing Crowley was there, would always be there, and that no one was going to take him away.

Aziraphale peered up at Crowley’s sharp profile, feeling his stomach swoop the way it so often did when he was able to stare openly at Crowley without being noticed. Crowley had not touched his tea, had not moved at all for several minutes, and it was this outward sign of control combined with the unhappiness Aziraphale could still feel swirling round him, that made the decision for him.

‘I’m sorry, my dear.’

Crowley turned his head to look at him.

‘For what?’

Aziraphale’s hands closed around his almost empty cup, glad of the lingering warmth.

‘For making you unhappy.’

Crowley blinked, or at least Aziraphale suspected that he did.

‘You haven’t, you don’t, you couldn’t.’

Aziraphale smiled, a little sadly.

‘I have, I do and I most certainly can.’

Crowley looked as if he was about to protest but Aziraphale got there first.

‘I don’t mean all the time, I trust you wouldn’t choose to spend so much time with me if you didn’t enjoy my company but I upset you just now. I reacted poorly to your kindness and if you permit me, I would like to try and explain myself.’

Crowley hesitated. Aziraphale was still cradling his tea cup, his shoulders hunched, everything in his posture indicating that he did not want to do this and Crowley knew he could undo it all with a few carefully casual words.

_‘No need, angel. Are you hungry? Where should we go for dinner?’_

They could lose the next half an hour making a decision, shed the awkwardness like an outgrown skin and return to the path they knew, the one that kept them both safe.

But the way Aziraphale was looking at him, a little frightened, a little pleading, was new. It wasn’t that Aziraphale had never looked at him like that, like he was asking Crowley to be brave for both of them, but this time he seemed to be asking permission to be brave himself.

‘Go ahead.’

Aziraphale’s lips twitched in a tiny, grateful smile, his eyes still full of fear.

‘Do you remember the day I opened this shop?’

What a question, of course Crowley remembered. The shop might now be as much a part of Aziraphale as his battered waistcoat and gold pinkie ring but it was new once.

‘I didn’t know anyone from Heaven was coming,’ said Aziraphale, as if Crowley might still be harbouring the suspicion that it had all been a trap, ‘I never suspected that they might show any interest at all…’

Aziraphale trailed off, both of them painfully aware that neither Gabriel nor Sandalphon had shown the slightest interest in Aziraphale’s life on Earth and that this occasion marked only one of very few instances when it could be said that Heaven was paying attention to Aziraphale himself. They’d wanted him back for some selfish reason of their own and they would have succeeded too if Crowley had not arrived, listened in and put together a hasty plan to keep Aziraphale precisely where he belonged.

‘It was seeing you through the window,’ said Aziraphale suddenly, his voice a little louder, on the edge of panic, ‘You were bringing me chocolates then too and I thought…’

Crowley tensed, he didn’t want to know what Aziraphale had thought all those years ago because whatever he thought then, he might think now and he wasn’t ready, how could he ever have thought he would be ready?

‘They could have seen you,’ Aziraphale continued, his eyes brighter than they had been moments ago, ‘If Gabriel or Sandalphon had turned around, if they’d felt your presence…’

Aziraphale shuddered. Crowley’s hand resting on the table between them twitched but otherwise he managed to hold it together.

‘Not the most observant those two, and we don’t need to worry about that any more. We’re safe.’

Aziraphale nodded, wiping quickly at his eyes. Crowley wanted to reach for him so badly his hands ached.

‘I’m being foolish,’ said Aziraphale. He gave Crowley a watery smile. ‘Ruining our evening over an old memory.’

He clicked his fingers and the chocolate box appeared on the table between them.

‘Shall we?’

They both stared at it as if it held something more inside it than confectionery. Damn it, this was not how Crowley had planned it at all but Aziraphale had already been brave, it was his turn.

‘Do you know why I was bringing these to you that day?’

Aziraphale’s eyes widened slightly.

‘Do you mean to say these are the same…?’

‘Well, not the exact same box, obviously. But they’ve used the same recipe for over two hundred years…’

‘Oh, Crowley.’

Aziraphale’s eyes were star bright once more and Crowley could not stand it.

‘So you’d better bloody well like them,’ he finished, more fiercely than he intended.

Aziraphale gave a little huff of laughter and reached for the box, carefully pulling at the gold ribbon with nimble fingers. Crowley leaned forwards without noticing he was doing so, his attention focused on Aziraphale’s face. The moment the scent of chocolate reached him, Aziraphale relaxed. He was already smiling as he fussed over the little menu card, making appreciate little noises over the selection. Crowley drank it all in, trying to stay in the moment while a tiny part of him wondered whether this was the reaction he would have been gifted two centuries ago.

‘Caramel!’

Apparently Aziraphale had made his choice. Crowley had watched Aziraphale eat all manner of things and had experienced varying degrees of reciprocal pleasure at his enthusiastic responses, but when Aziraphale closed his eyes to better savour the chocolate Crowley had waited so very, very long to give to him, Crowley found he was barely able to cling to coherent thought. And then Aziraphale moaned in delight and Crowley’s mind short circuited completely.

When he came to his senses, it was to find Aziraphale happily eyeing the menu once more.

‘These are simply magnificent,’ he was saying, ‘Really, Crowley, I thought I knew all the best chocolatiers in London. You must tell me where you got them from.’

Crowley tried to swallow. It hurt.

‘You like them then?’

‘Oh yes, my dear.’

Aziraphale beamed at him, his face alight in that way that made it seem as if a halo had manifested itself above his head. Maybe it had. Crowley could not bear to tear his eyes away from Aziraphale’s happy face to look. He felt relieved, vindicated even. And maybe it was enough to know that he could make Aziraphale happy in these small ways. Better not to push, better not to risk ruining it all.

‘Crowley?’ Aziraphale was watching him now, a curious expression on his face. ‘Why were you bringing these to me that day?’

Crowley’s question had not been forgotten in the rush of cocoa and sugar then. Unfortunate.

‘Your bookshop was opening, big day.’

He could stop there, he did not have to keep going. Aziraphale would not push for another answer, even if he strongly suspected there was one.

Crowley did not have to say, ‘And…’

‘And?’ Aziraphale echoed, whisper-soft.

Everything was still. Even Crowley’s jumpy heart was calm as he removed his glasses. Let there be no mistaking his words or intention.

‘And I was going to tell you that I was in love with you.’

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. His open astonishment did not bode well but Crowley was in it now, might as well keep going.

‘Thought the chocolates might help with the…’ Crowley indicated Aziraphale’s shocked expression with a flick of his fingers. If he could just play it cool enough, maybe he could get them both through this. ‘Didn’t bargain on having an audience though. Almost losing you to Heaven made me reconsider, decided maybe I could hold off on telling you for a while longer.’

‘You were..?’ Aziraphale was going pale. He looked down at the chocolates he had just been enjoying as if they were the thing that was making him feel ill. ‘And today?’

Crowley could have sliced himself open on the crack in Aziraphale’s voice. It was not as if he hadn’t imagined things going badly but he’d hoped, he’d really hoped…

‘It’s fine,’ he said, trying to bandage over the gaping wound in his chest with blind optimism, ‘Really, angel, I just wanted you to know, that’s all. Couldn’t keep it in any more. Felt like lying.’

Crowley’s fingers had closed around his glasses. He needed to put them on before the heat behind his eyes turned into something far more incriminating.

‘Crowley…’

Crowley could not look up, could not bear to see what was written in Aziraphale’s eyes. He hadn’t even said it properly, not the way he’d wanted to, but the word was out there and it had not torn the fabric of the universe apart. It was enough.

In one quick flicker of movement, Crowley replaced his glasses and was at last able to look up to survey the damage he had wrought. Across the table, Aziraphale was twisting his hands together, his face flushed, his brow lined with worry.

‘Angel, I…’

‘Crowley…’

They had spoken at the same time and both fell silent at once. Aziraphale started twisting his pinkie ring around his finger, a sure sign of stress. Crowley watched for a moment and then, with a great and terrible effort, he began to push his pain back to the place it could be managed and ignored, where it would not hurt his angel ever again. He had made this mess and he was going to fix it. 

‘Right,’ he said, in a near approximation of his normal voice, ‘Dinner then?’

‘Dinner?’

Aziraphale sounded lost. Pain, hot and sharp, rose in Crowley’s throat but he swallowed it down. 

‘Tomorrow then?’ he said, ‘Or whenever, whenever you’re ready.’

He moved to stand, hoping his legs wouldn't fail him.

‘Wait,’ said Aziraphale, ‘Please.’

Crowley dropped back down into his chair with a feeling of dread. Aziraphale was looking more wretched every second and whatever he was about to say, Crowley was certain he did not want to hear it.

Aziraphale’s mind was a storm of confusion. He’d gone swiftly from wildest joy to uncertainty to sharpest sorrow at the realisation that this was not the wonderful confession he had assumed it to be. Crowley had been in love with him, long ago, but now all he wanted was for things to stay the same when Aziraphale had been rather hoping for a change or two. Clearly Crowley had sensed his misguided expectation and had decided to intervene, letting him down gently. He’d been kind, the way he always was, but it hurt all the same.

Aziraphale did not really mean to speak aloud, much less blurt out the thoughts that were at the very epicentre of his pain but Crowley was watching him carefully from across the table, waiting for him to catch up.

‘We couldn’t have…’ he said, thinking of top hats and terror. Two hundred years ago he had not even admitted to himself how much Crowley meant to him, though it would not be long before a request for holy water would cut him so deep that even his well-practised techniques for denial would not be enough to stop his heart from breaking. ‘I wouldn’t…’

‘I know,’ said Crowley.

Aziraphale was so used to Crowley concealing pain from him that he was wholly unprepared for the dark weight behind those gentle words. There was so much Aziraphale wanted to ask. How long did you love me? When did you stop? Was it something I did? Or did you simply grow tired of waiting?

The ache in Aziraphale’s chest was growing stronger. It might be far too little, far too late but he could still say it. Perhaps it might even help a little, hearing the words he had kept on his tongue for so long. He took a deep breath, staring down at his hands clasped on the table in front of him, motionless when what they really wanted was to reach and hold and worship.

‘Thank you for telling me. I understand, of course. I’m just sorry that it…’

Crowley made a flinching movement, started to say, ‘Don’t…’ but Aziraphale had to finish, he had to make sure Crowley knew.

‘I’m sorry that it took me so long.’ Aziraphale forced himself to look up to meet Crowley’s eyes. ‘I wouldn’t have been brave enough to admit it then but I am now. I love you, Crowley.’

Aziraphale savoured the taste of the words, tried to commit the sound of them to memory.

‘You do?’

Crowley’s voice was barely a whisper. He was statue still once more and oh, how Aziraphale wanted to touch him. To place his hands on Crowley’s face, lean in close and say, ‘Yes, yes, of course I do!’

But he understood that he had lost that right, if he had ever had it.

‘I’m sorry, my dear. I kept you waiting too long, I know that now. I missed my chance.’

‘Missed your…?’ Crowley suddenly looked irritated, and it was such a familiar expression, familiar enough to be utterly lovely. ‘What are you talking about, angel? Didn’t you hear what I said?’

‘I’ve been listening very carefully,’ said Aziraphale, rising to his own defence, ‘You said you _were_ in love with me and now…’

‘You think I stopped loving you?’ Crowley asked, coming perilously close to shouting.

Aziraphale blinked.

‘Isn’t that what you…?’

Crowley let out a low growl and ran his hand through his hair, messing it up completely.

‘Idiot,’ he said, under his breath, though whether he was referring to Aziraphale or himself was open to interpretation. Aziraphale, however, was quite willing to stake his claim.

‘Do you mean to say that you still…?’

Crowley dropped his hand, removing his glasses once more. 

‘For the avoidance of any doubt,’ said Crowley, carefully enunciating each word, ‘I love you, angel. Right now and forever.’

_Oh._

‘Well, good,’ said Aziraphale weakly, his heart doing something new and very distracting in his chest, ‘Glad we’ve established the, er, facts.’

He was getting it all wrong again but Crowley did not seem to mind, not if the overwhelming surge of happiness filling the room was anything to go by. Aziraphale was sure he was contributing a fair bit to it too though he also found himself blinking back tears. Suitably distracted, Aziraphale barely registered Crowley moving before there he was, standing in front of him.

‘Come on,’ Crowley said, holding out his hand as if they were well practiced in the art of deliberate touch.

Aziraphale’s hand had barely made contact before Crowley was pulling him to his feet. Suddenly they were standing closer than they would ever normally stand. The dizzying reality of it made Aziraphale reach for the nearest thing to steady himself, the nearest thing being Crowley’s chest. Before he could draw back, Crowley placed his hand over the top of Aziraphale’s, holding it against his heart.

‘Oh.’

He could hear Crowley breathing, a little too fast. He could feel his heart beating under his palm, the warmth of hand on hand. When Crowley spoke, Aziraphale felt that too.

‘Do you still want to go for dinner?’

Aziraphale smiled, softly, shyly, and let himself lean forwards. It was not like him to forgo the chance to dine out but strangely Aziraphale could not remember a time when he’d felt less interested in food.

The moment their foreheads touched, Crowley released a small, soft sound of pleasure and his eyes closed. 

‘Let’s stay in tonight, my dear.’

After all, if he got peckish, he'd barely touched the chocolates. 


End file.
